Aligned
by madsthenerdygirl
Summary: "Jack Robinson, the man who always does the right thing." "Not always."


**Title: Aligned**

**Rating: I have no shame.**

**Summary: "Jack Robinson, the man who always does the right thing." "Not always."**

**Disclaimer: Do you think I'd have let Aunt P interrupt that beautiful moment?**

**Dedication: Part Two of CJ's birthday present! Hope you like it!**

* * *

Here they were again. It was the end of a case—a trying one, one that had nearly cost them their lives—and they were standing at the bottom of her staircase, barely a foot of space in between them, their eyes straying toward each other's lips.

"Jack Robinson," Phryne said. She liked saying his name. Perhaps a bit too much. "The man who always does the right thing."

She said it because that was what she did. She baited him, knowing that he wouldn't bite. But there was too much softness, too much resignation in her tone, and she knew that she'd shown her hand. She wanted him to take the bait, to drop that last veneer of respectability and rigid rule-following and take her like she knew he wanted. She knew he wanted more than just a night, and for a long time that had been all that she'd wanted, and so she'd hung back, respecting him too much to break him. But now…

His eyes were on her lips again. It had been a long time since she'd felt this tentative around a potential lover. She hadn't felt this vulnerable—probably because she'd had nothing to lose.

Now, she had everything to lose.

His mouth barely moved when he spoke. It was as if he didn't trust himself. "Not always."

Somehow they were already swaying in toward each other, just off-kilter enough to make the center of gravity shift but not so much that it was fast. It was slow, terribly slow, and she could swear she heard his heartbeat in the space between breaths. She wanted to keep looking at his face, at those heavy-lidded eyes and the drugged look inside of them, but her gaze was drawn downward, to his mouth…

Her eyes closed just as their lips met.

They slid together, pressing lightly, and she felt a tiny thrill right at her breastbone. Their bodies lined up, brushing against one another as they tentatively opened their mouths to one another. Finally, _finally_, after all of the 'almost's and the near misses and the 'if only's—the moment was right. The stars had aligned for them.

His mouth was hot, and his tongue was strong but assured, exploring her. He tasted a little like whiskey and a little like coffee, which she hadn't expected but wanted to keep tasting. She wanted to learn how he tasted everywhere. She wanted to unwind him like a spool of thread and then put him back together again in such a way that he'd never be whole without her. It was a terrifying thought, mostly because she knew that after this moment, she'd never be whole without him.

Their tongues delved a little more deeply into each other, his mouth sealing over hers, forcing her to bend her head back and expose her neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck for balance, and he placed his hands at her back. They were such large hands; a little calloused but gentle, oh so gentle in how he held her. It wasn't like she was breakable or like he was afraid—it was like he wanted to feel the softness of her, and so he was being soft in return. The kiss was steadily growing dirtier but they never became frantic in their movements. There was a slowness to things, like tree sap stirring after a long winter, her body fully awakening after being dormant. Her skin tingled and her pulse was climbing and thank God her body knew what to do because her heart was stumbling over itself like she was a blushing schoolgirl.

When they parted, it was a slow drawing away, going far enough only to take in a deep breath. "Was that… the right thing to do?" He asked. His voice was low and husky and just a little bit wrecked. She thrilled to hear it.

"Some might say it was wrong," she admitted. Jack always wanted honesty, no matter what the cost, and she knew not everyone would approve of their behavior—never mind the exact circumstances surrounding it. She took in another breath, her pulse jumping at what she was about to say. "But I haven't felt something this right in ages."

She tried to keep her tone breathy and light, but as she heard her voice in her ears she knew she'd failed. But his eyes flared, dark and yearning and _joyful_, and she couldn't bring herself to regret it. To have fallen so hard, and for a straight-laced policeman of all people. It was ludicrous. It certainly wasn't what she'd imagined for herself. And yet it felt… fated. Yes. Like something larger than either of them had been subtly and steadily pushing them toward each other until all they had to do was take that tiny final step and it all fell into place.

"Miss Fisher…" He was staring at her mouth again.

She placed a finger on his lips, halting him. He swallowed, and she could almost read the thoughts he was having as they flashed through the muscles of his face. "Phryne," she reminded him.

And this time, wonder of wonders, he listened to her.

"Phryne," he said. The action had the tip of her finger curling over his bottom lip and he sucked on it gently, biting on the pad of it before releasing it. Phryne drew in a shuddering breath, feeling heat pool between her thighs. They had to get upstairs—the sooner the better.

She stepped back out of his arms and onto the first stair. He seemed momentarily disappointed, as if she were concluding their interactions for the night. Then she held out her hand—how many times had she wanted to do this? How many goodbyes had she wanted to halt by leading him up these very stairs?—palm up, extended, an empty vessel waiting to be filled.

He stared at her for a moment (Dumbfounded? Reconsidering?) but then he gave her one of his wry smiles, the close-lipped ones that she lived for, and placed his hand in hers.

Oh, she was such a goner.

They didn't say a word to each other as she led him to her bedroom. They didn't even touch, other than their entwined hands. She allowed him to pass through her into the suite, releasing his hand in order to close and lock the door behind them. Dottie had left just one lamp on for her to see by, and it gave the room a dim golden-yellow glow, like everything was going sepia-toned. The bed, she was glad to see, was still wonderfully rumpled and unmade from that morning.

Jack crowded up behind her, his hands going to her hips as he pressed his nose into the side of her neck and inhaled. "You are intoxicating," he said, his tone accusatory.

She placed her hands over his, guiding his right hand lower and toward the center, until he was cupping her between her thighs. He groaned, his mouth against her skin, and he pressed up against her back. She leaned back against him. She knew he could take her weight, keep her steady. He always had.

"And just what are you going to do about it, Jack?" She asked. She did love teasing him.

He growled and bit lightly at her neck, making her roll her hips into his hand. His fingers pressed against her, massaging in slow circles, and her eyelids fluttered shut. She was trapped between a rock and—she wiggled her ass, earning another growl—a very hard place indeed. A smile spread across her face.

The world spun momentarily as she was turned, one of his hands cupping her ass and another at her ribcage, steadying her as their lips crashed together. She kneaded his shoulders, feeling the coiled tension and muscle underneath her fingertips. She hummed appreciatively.

"Come on Jack," she whispered. "We can't let a bed like mine go to waste."

She took a couple of steps backward and he followed, growling against her mouth, "By the time I'm finished with you, you won't be able to string two words together."

Oh, Lord. Phryne squeezed her thighs together, hot slick leaking out of her at the thoughts that crowded her mind. Impatience overcame her and she stepped back, the backs of her legs hitting the bed as she shimmied out of her clothes, tossing them aside. Jack, ever the man of action, took his cue from her and began removing his own clothes. She had a moment of profound disappointment at not being able to take that shirt off of him herself, but then she caught sight of what lay underneath and all other thoughts fled.

She'd wanted to touch him ever since she'd seen him in his swimming trunks. Now that broad chest was barely six inches in front of her, and she could touch all she wanted.

Talk about intoxicating.

She stretched her hands forward and pressed her palms to his stomach, running her hands up, up, up until she could span them over his shoulders. Jack was standing there, his lips parted, staring at her in abject admiration. "Phryne," he said, and his voice sounded strangled.

She hummed, drawing him in, making him bend her over until she was on the bed and he was hovering over her. He was gorgeous, his body filled out and thick… her eyes drifted downward, and she hummed in appreciation. Definitely thick.

Jack placed his knee on the bed for leverage, the mattress dipping underneath his weight. He dipped his head down and then Phryne was throwing hers back because his mouth was trailing down her skin, teeth scraping playfully, brushing against the underside of her breast, the nipple, tongue circling and _oh_—! Phyrne grabbed at his shoulders. Rose had wasted her time and opportunities. She did not intend to do the same.

Although how Rose could have given up a man with a mouth as talented as this, Phryne had no idea.

She reached a little higher and threaded her fingers through Jack's hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging. It felt good—almost too good, he'd brought his hand up to knead at her other breast, tweaking the nipple, and his mouth was still completely concentrated on the other one and good fucking Lord—but she wanted more. She wanted him inside of her, filling her up, their bodies aligned like the earth and the sky. She wanted everything.

She tugged again, harder, and he got the message. He slid up her body to join her, his face tipping toward hers. She obliged him and opened her mouth to his. He swiped his tongue across her lips, playfully, then nibbled at the corner of her mouth. Who knew Jack Robinson could be a tease? Well, two could play that game. She used the handful of hair still in her grasp to tug his head until it was at the angle she wanted and she plunged her tongue into his mouth, kissing him until he was practically rutting against her leg. She let her legs fall open, a pleased mewl vibrating in the back of her throat at how nicely he slotted between them.

Jack pulled back slightly, his chest pressing against hers as he heaved in a few gulps of air. "You… are temptation itself."

Had the man looked in a mirror recently?

"I hope I'm tempting you to move a little faster, then," she replied.

His response was to growl at her from the back of his throat, his teeth baring just slightly. She shivered in anticipation. She did so love to rile him up. She slid her hand down between them, trailing her fingertips up and down his length. "At a loss for words, Inspector?"

Jack opened his mouth to say something and she wrapped her hand firmly around him, giving it a slight tug. Whatever Jack was going to say got stuck in his throat and he make a choking, gurgling sound as his head fell down onto her shoulder. She repeated the movement, stroking him slowly. Jack was trembling as if he had been lifting weights for hours.

"Don't hold back," she whispered. She'd waited for what felt like centuries to see him bare before her—literally and figuratively. She wanted it all.

Jack growled again and then she was the one being kissed senseless. He somehow managed to get them both farther onto the bed so that they lay in the middle of it, but she couldn't pay attention to that because he was sliding a finger into her, his thumb roughly circling her clit and doing things like paying attention to her surroundings felt completely unnecessary.

"More," she whispered, arching her hips up to meet his fingers. "More, Jack, please."

He didn't answer, bending his head down to suck at her throat, but he slid another finger in—and then another, crooking them upward, and her hips snapped violently as she cried out. How the—how had he known—?

Jack chuckled darkly. "You like that?"

"You're a bastard," she declared, even as her hips thrust frantically against his fingers. "I have no idea what I ever saw in you."

Jack hummed, clearly enjoying himself, and continued to work her with his fingers. "Would you like me to stop then?"

She knew it was giving in, but she didn't care. They were both giving in tonight. "Don't you dare."

To her infinite frustration, Jack promptly stopped and withdrew his fingers. Before she could shove him onto the mattress and ride him, however—which she was fully capable of doing thanks to some fighting techniques—he repositioned himself and began pushing against her entrance. Phryne relaxed, allowing him to slide in. He went slowly, which she found both appreciative and frustrating since she wanted him to _move_.

And then, finally, he did.

It was like everything had slowed down. Even the earth's orbit had ground almost to a halt. What had been tinged with desperation was now serene and natural, a rhythm so smooth and conjoined that it was like they had always known it deep inside of their bones. They moved together, his hips rolling up into hers, their breaths mingling together as they brushed their lips together. She wound her arms around him to keep him close, their skin sliding together, his chest to hers, creating a delicious friction against her breasts. There was no space between them and she felt like that was how it should be. After so many months of dancing around one another, a tiny abyss between them… finally, they had conquered it.

She couldn't say how long it took for her to orgasm. Time seemed to have no meaning. It was neither fast nor slow; it was seamless. Each moment flowed into the other and all that she knew was him. It built within her, behind her eyes and within her blood, like the earth slowly heating up as the summer sun rose up into the sky. She flung her head back, gasping, unable to form a word or even make a sound. It spilled over her like sunlight.

Afterward she tucked her head under his chin and slid an arm around his midsection, purring in contentedness. Their bodies matched up like lines of charcoal in a sketch. "Jack Robinson," she declared in a fierce whisper, "I am going to make certain you never do the right thing again."

Jack laughed throatily. "Is that a promise?"

"Oh, yes."

Now that everything had aligned, she wasn't going to let them slip out of orbit again.


End file.
